Then live, Macduff. What need I fear of thee? What is this That rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby-brow the round And top of sovereignty?
Third Apparation: Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are. Macbeth shall never vanquished be until Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill Shall come against him.
That will never be. Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his earthbound root? Sweet bodements! Good! Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing. Tell me, if your art Can tell so much: shall Banquo’s issue ever Reign in this kingdom?